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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27498001">Function of a Coat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsandlavender/pseuds/lilacsandlavender'>lilacsandlavender</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes One-Shots [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Thoughts, F/M, Gen, Headcanon, I'd cry if I was forced to go to boarding school too, Looks like I can't let Enola be happy for just one story huh, Memory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 02:27:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27498001</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsandlavender/pseuds/lilacsandlavender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The night Enola arrives at Ms. Harrison's, she remembers she'd packed something that might help her get through her first night at boarding school, and then when Tewkesbury comes to rescue her, will the item be long forgotten?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes One-Shots [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>205</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Givin' you a short story that I'd love to think has the potential to be headcanon?? I keep realizing little things in scenes from the Enola Holmes movie, and while it's unfortunate that I only seem to have those epiphanies at ungodly hours of the morning (which leads me to writing them down immediately before my short memory forgets them), I'm forever grateful for you readers who keep reading, liking, and/or commenting on these stories.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enola Holmes sits on her bed at Ms. Harrison’s Finishing School for Girls and is incapable of doing much more than simply sulk. She hasn’t spent a full day here, but she already knows she hates this dismal building - and everything it stands for - with its underfurnished rooms, drab color scheme, and stench of cleanliness. (Enola never thought she would loathe the smell of a sterile space, especially in such a city as London, but Ms. Harrington’s somehow, miraculously, defeats all odds.) And then of course, there’s <em>Ms. Harrington herself</em>.</p><p>Enola knew her late-night arrival would have warranted a sour response from <em>whoever</em> ran the school, but she has a strong feeling that the headmistress always looks like she’s just eaten a lemon. Additionally, the remark the woman made about Enola’s weight only an hour ago makes Enola clench her teeth in spite, and though she hasn’t a long track record for caring about her appearance, the comment had stung and surprised her, especially because who <em>says</em> that within the first five minutes of meeting someone?</p><p>She shivers then and curses the flimsy pajamas from the stack of clothes she’s been given to wear. <em>I can’t even be miserable in comfort</em>, she gripes. Though it is summertime, the weather outside cools down remarkably at night some days, and of course her room hadn’t been furnished with extra blankets. Enola tries to ignore her state of subpar temperature, but the more she tries, the more it bothers her. She contemplates changing into the pink dress she had on earlier, just because it has long sleeves, but quickly dismisses the idea. Nor does she want to wear that horribly ugly black uniform of a dress  until she absolutely must, so she twitches in silence until she remembers: she has a coat.</p><p>It’s just not <em>her</em> coat.</p><p>When Mycroft had arrived at her lodging room to take her away, Enola had been immediately lectured about how she’d caused him a world of trouble, and then his tirade to her had ended when he tossed a carpet bag at her feet, saying, “I took the liberty of packing some necessitates from our mother’s home that you might need at the school – grooming accessories for that wild hair of yours, proper ladies footwear that won’t suit you to run around all nilly-willy in, and whatever else – so if there’s anything else here you want to bring that you can get into the bag, I’ll allow you to pack it, so long as I see it fit.”</p><p>When Enola had hesitated out of shock, he’d snapped, “Well, hurry up now before I change my mind. We haven’t all day.”</p><p>So she had, under his scrutinous watch, folded a newspaper and gathered the few gifts Eudoria had given her, and just as she thought she’d packed anything of incredible importance, her gaze had fallen to the footpost of her bed. It had taken her a moment to realize that the article of clothing laying there was Tewkesbury’s coat which he’d taken off upon entering her room and then promptly left is his haste to escape with his life.</p><p>There was a tug at her heart when she’d reached for the clasp of the bag while maintaining eye contact with the coat in its abandoned state, and then after a split second of hesitation, she’d reached for it. Maybe it was the feeling of guilt for essentially leading Lestrade to the marquess flooding through her that compelled the action, or maybe it was the hope the coat gave her that she may yet have the slimmest of chances to return it to its owner; but all Enola had known was that she couldn’t leave it there.</p><p>“What in heaven’s name is <em>that</em>?”</p><p>Mycroft. His voice had cut through her thoughts, laced with confusion and skepticism.</p><p>“A coat,” she’d said curtly, hoping that her brother would leave it at that, since she’d been unwilling to divulge any more of an explanation. But alas, she’d hoped for too much.</p><p>Shooting her a disapproving look, Mycroft scorned her. “It summertime. You don’t need anything as ridiculous as a coat. Besides...” He squinted at the object in her hands. “That is most definitely not yours. In fact...is that a <em>men’s</em> coat?”</p><p>“It’s Sherlock’s,” she’d said quickly since it was no use arguing that it was indeed a male’s outerwear piece. It had been painfully obvious, however, that it was <em>not</em> Sherlock’s. Firstly, though it was long in length, it was small in size and not remotely close to something tailored to fit their middle sibling. Secondly, the detective wore proper coats that fit into either the frock, tail, or inverse families – anything but the garment Enola had clutched tightly in her firsts in fear of having it repossessed by Mycroft.</p><p>Her statement had caught the oldest Holmes off guard, and for a moment he’d stared at her with silent disbelief, since he was aware they both knew she’d just blatantly lied to his face.</p><p>Enola had held her breath, and after what had felt like years gone by, he’d miraculously huffed, “Fine, take the damn thing; see if I care,” and signaled his reluctant approval with an annoyed, dismissive wave of his hand.</p><p>So now Enola creeps with caution over to the carpet bag – she doesn’t know where the creaky floorboards in her room are yet – and pulls out the wrinkled coat, which she realizes can barely be classified as a coat at all. It’s incredibly thin and very long, making it more like a robe with inside lining. There are three front pockets - two at thigh region and one on the chest - and though the lapels are barely there, the soft material underneath Enola’s fingers urges her to put it on. So she does.</p><p>The coat reached Tewkesbury’s ankles when he’d adorned it, so it eagerly swallows Enola’s shorter and smaller frame whole. However, she welcomes the oversized fit, finding it oddly comforting.</p><p>When she crawls back into bed, bottom of the material dragging on the floor behind her in her path’s wake, she pushes the sleeves up so she can properly grab the front panels to wrap snugly around herself, tucks her chin to her chest, and shuts her eyes. After a few minutes however, to her shock, there’s a sudden stinging sensation pricking from behind her eyelids.</p><p><em>What’s wrong with you now? </em>she scolds herself. <em>Didn’t you cry enough in the carriage? </em>And for a minute she doesn’t understand what’s making the tears slowly slide down her face, but then she realizes it’s the coat’s fault.</p><p>It smells like at least half a dozen different kinds of flowers, chamomile tea, and sunshine. It smells like like crisp, fresh linen and the distinctive sweet scent of populous England Alder wood.</p><p>It smells like Tewkesbury.</p><p>And by the time common sense tells Enola that no, the taste of wild mushroom soup and the touch of soft, overgrown brown locks should not have smells associated with them, she’s already wishing that the sight of a certain 17 year-old marquess grinning at her while he offered her a rose and the sound of the words “I’ve missed you, Enola Holmes,” did, just so she can hold those memories close. Just so, as she falls asleep, she can replay those recollections over and over for countless chances to pretend that she hadn’t tossed that rose to the side and been strong enough to say, “I missed you too, nincompoop.”</p><p>Because now it’s too late. She’s probably never again going to see the viscount with the warm brown eyes who hadn’t wanted to leave her in their time of peril, and that thought makes a tiny yet distinct fissure in her heart because for first time since leaving home, she truly feels alone. The boy with a price on his head had been more loyal to her than her own family has been in the past week, and now she doesn’t even have him.</p><p>So Enola snuggles into the cocoon she’s made for herself, and as the aroma of lavender and cotton helps her overcome the hurdles to sleep, she finally drifts off, clinging to the idea that while the arms of the coat are doing an unexpectedly good job of keeping her warm, how nice it might feel to have Tewkesbury’s around her instead, holding her, even for just a moment, in a reality of happiness the coat’s scent can only begin to make her imagine in her dreams.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Tewkesbury arrives at Ms. Harrison's Boarding School for Girls to rescue Enola from a fate of endless embroidery and perfect posture practice, something in her room catches his eye and leaves him utterly confused as they head towards the Basilwether estate.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(I never planned on writing a chapter two to this story until I got inspired to do so, so yes, your comments are so very much loved and appreciated!) Dedicated to NerdyLeafeon whose comment on chapter one immediately made me think of how I could write about Tewkesbury finding out Enola took his coat. I'm not sure if this is anything they were imaging it being, but it was fun to create nonetheless. As always, I hope you enjoy &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Viscount William Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether, clenches his lips shut to keep from making a noise of discomfort as he’s dropped unceremoniously onto the ground. It’s not very comfortable at all in the large wicker basket with his body in a curled-up position, shoulders pressed downwards and knees digging into his chest, but he manages to stay quiet until he hears the clicks of footsteps retreating, and when he hears the conformational sound of a door closing, he begins to shift in his cramped quarters. Holding the same position from Ferndell Hall all the way to the school made the marquess’ muscles cramp and beg to be stretched, and when his fidgeting starts, accompanied with a long-awaited sneeze, he feels a swift kick delivered on the side of the basket where his head lies. </p><p></p><div class="">
  <p>“Ow!” Tewkesbury exclaims, the blow taking him off guard. Then the lid of his confinement is thrown off, and when he hears his name being announced with happy surprise, he forgets the growing ache in his back, all the trouble and sneaky actions he’s gone through to get back to Enola now undoubtedly worth every moment where he thought he’d be caught. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He smiles at her enthusiasm. He laughs due to relief that not only has he actually pulled off his far-fetched plot, but also with the sight that Enola is grinning and alive and <em>here</em>. And then suddenly she’s more than just here: she’s thrown herself at him before he has the chance to completely straighten, and he has no choice to but hug her back, the sensation of their embrace — an embrace made up of one her hands moving from his shoulder to neck to head and the other from his waist to his back like she can’t get close enough to him — making his stomach fill with butterflies that he wishes were as easy to understand as the ones that visit the flowers in his garden at Basilwether.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He teasingly states that she’s to be helping him out, not getting in with him, and when she asks how he’s found her, he tells her that she’d given him a clue in the past, proving not only his memory but also the fact that he has hung onto her every word from the moment they met. He leaves out the truth that’s on the tip of his tongue that even if she hadn’t foreshadowed her whereabouts, he would have scoured all of England until he found her. He doesn’t want to jinx the reality of their happy reunion, and they still have to figure out a way to sneak out of the school.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I even wore my most porter-ish coat.” He shakes a sleeve for emphasis, and the excitement radiating off Enola when he suggests they leave the way he arrived is not lost on him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But when she says Ms. Harrison will see right through him, his shoulders sag in disappointment, and worry starts to set in that perhaps his plan for their escape is now unachievable. He takes in the sight of the room, saying “Oh, I knew there was a flaw!” and immediately hates what he sees. It’s tiny and drab and the lack of character to it is all that’s needed to tell him that the rest of the school can’t be in much better of a condition. It is absolutely no place fit to suit Enola’s colorful, ever-curious personality. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>No,</em> he thinks while she shushes him, <em>we are getting out of this horrible place. I didn’t want to be stuck in Parliament with every elder telling me how to vote and behave, controlling my every move and decision, so I can’t neglect Enola to the clutches of anyone with the same superiority complex. I’m not leaving her. Never again. </em>He begins to pace the room in a state of growing distress that he tries to keep from showing, and racks his brain for a fool-proof plan with such concentration that he does a double-take when he sees it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It” is an article of clothing messily draped over a black fireplace tool stand, and the only reason it stands out is because the rest of the room is completely void of any sort of clutter or oddly-placed objects. It’s long, grey, and most important to note, <em>his</em>. As someone belonging to a prestigious class of people, he owns many clothes, including many coats, but he recognizes it immediately due to the fondness he has for it. Most items in his wardrobe are formal pieces, so the comfortable grey coat has become a favorite of his to wear when he can get away with it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Is that—” Tewkesbury starts, momentarily distracted, but Enola interrupts his diversion of topic. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, forget it!” she huffs, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “We’re going with your plan because I cannot come up with anything else that will possibly work. I tried the window earlier this week with no avail, and Ms. Harrison, though only one person, is always in the most inconvenient places, so sneaking out in plain sight won’t work.” Tewkesbury stares at her as she climbs back into the basket. “Come close the lid; the sooner we get this over with, the better.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She’s given the marquess an order in a commanding tone that he dare not argue with, one that makes him spring into action, but the knowledge that she had his coat for whatever reason lives in the back of his head. It is temporarily forgotten when he’s put on the spot to formulate a reason to the headmistress why she cannot open the parcel, and almost completely erased from his mind when Enola springs the news to him that they need to head to Basilwether Hall. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>However, as the pair rides in silence, both giddy from what they are to expect and face at the estate, Tewkesbury’s thoughts, against his will, wander back to the unavoidable truth of what he’s seen.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Is she a kleptomaniac?</em> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tewkesbury hurriedly shoves that question aside the minute he thinks it, horrified with himself that he could possibly ever accuse Enola of stealing his belongings while she is taking such a large risk to save his life. He doesn’t understand why the matter fascinates him so much, but perhaps it is because he cannot think of any feasible reason why she’d take his clothing other than for personal possession. And that makes him even more curious, but he bites his tongue, tries to focus on and enjoy the scene of sprawling fields, trees, and irregular patches of flowers – for it really is a lovely day out – and reminds himself in a chastising manner, <em>There’s a much bigger picture, much more at stake, than your silly coat.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you again, by the way,” Enola says suddenly, breaking the silence.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tewkesbury glances at her, and without reciprocating eye contact, Enola continues, “For getting me out of there. It was absolutely dreadful, and your timing couldn't have been more perfect.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tewkesbury smiles a tiny grin when he hears this. Though he's had the suspicion that her small insults and jabs held little water, he hasn't realized before this moment how nice it is to hear her praise. It sounds different than the compliments he receives from his mother's friends or other nobility figures. <em>Perhaps</em>, he thinks as the two bounce over the current bumpy gravel path, <em>it's because her words sound so incredibly genuine.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before he can say anything, however, Enola tacks on, “Of course, you looked utterly <em>ridiculous</em> climbing out of that basket. We need to stop meeting in such fashion.” There's a smile of her own in her voice when she says this. “I'm quite surprised to find that someone who is about to become a lord is so casual about stuffing himself into bags and baskets.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tewkesbury lets out a laugh that feels long overdue, feels amazing to release after what has felt like a week of holding his breath in anticipation of danger. And while it's ironic that he's in more danger now than ever before as they hurdle towards the place that's supposed to be home, a safe haven of his, there's a sense of calm that surrounds him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>It must be due to the presence of Enola. </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Capable, serious, strong-willed, Enola. Intelligent, witty, lively, Enola. Happy, beautiful, <em>smile-that-could-stop-your-heart</em> Enola.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And Tewkesbury's blushing when he thinks about how the girl who sits less than a foot away from him has saved him in more ways than one, because he now can't imagine or begin to think where he'd be – where he'll go – without her. Thinks that maybe, just maybe, the overwhelming, vivid life he's seen in her eyes has, somewhere along the way, been gifted by her to him to be stars in his own brown pair, for the ability to stop staring at her has deserted him completely, leaving him with shallow breaths, the struggle to swallow overcoming all other senses.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So he straightens in mock confidence in an attempt to regain his composure and replies, “Well, <em>I </em>find it surprising that there was any possible way that they were ever able to get you to wear that uniform. It looked like something the pilgrims wore. I don't blame you for ripping off the collar the minute we left.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Letting out a noise that lies somewhere between a snort and a chuckle, Enola says, “I wish I'd had time to rip off the sleeves too; they're very itchy and it's too warm for them.” She glances briefly at the marquess and scoffs. “I know you wore it for disguise reasons, but how you're wearing a coat on a day like today is beyond my comprehension.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The next comment slips out before Tewkesbury has a chance to stop it. He's always been vigilant with his words, always been taught to think twice before verbalizing his thoughts (especially while in the presence of important and influential society members). However, he can’t stop from making an attempt, even in the most joking of tones, to satisfy his curiosity.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Is that a ploy to get me to take it off? Do you want this one too?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Enola reaches for and pulls on the automobile’s engine lever in a blink of an eye, and Tewkesbury lurches forward under the influence of inertia. He wildly grapples the side of his seat for stability and looks up in surprise at the detective.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her eyebrows are furrowed, but the hesitancy in her face when she says, “What?”, tells him that she’s not confused and asking for clarification but instead is filled with hope that somehow he’s miraculously not implying what she thinks he is. For she knows <em>exactly</em> what he's talking about, and he’s aware of this as well.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I saw it,” he announces, though it is unnecessary. Then, “Why’d you take it?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And when Enola stares at him, Tewkesbury thinks he’s not going to get an answer, sighs in defeat, and faces forward. He’s coming to terms that he’ll simply never know when she mumbles, “It’s stupid. You’ll laugh.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her self-doubt takes him by surprise, and when his memory registers that those are nearly the exact same words he told her when she’d questioned him why he ran away, he immediately reassures her that he won’t.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Enola lets out a small sigh of her own and stares off into the distance, eyes fixating on something that captures only her interest. “I saw you notice it at the school, but I was hoping you wouldn’t mention it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Of course she noticed. What does she, this brilliant girl, not? </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But if you must know-”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tewkesbury leans slightly closer to her in rapt interest.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I brought it to look at. It was a nice reminder of our short time together, even if you were being a nincompoop most of the time, and I did so because I...I missed you. I missed your silly smile and ridiculous hair. I missed your company and even your obsession with flowers. Anyways-” She fidgets in her seat. “It didn’t feel right to leave it after you were forced to, so I packed it along with some of my belongings.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Well, there goes the viscount’s heart, either beating too fast or nearly not at all – he truly can’t tell – for though the teasing insults are back, Tewkesbury doesn’t take offense, focusing instead on the fact that <em>she’d missed him</em>. He wants to tell himself that her words are not a cipher for any underlying feelings she may have for him, but it’s hard to convince himself of that when there’s an obvious blush spreading across Enola’s face. To be honest, the idea brings back those darn butterflies.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And as she starts the automobile up once more, it dawns on him that she’s left out an important detail to her explanation: people don’t just leave objects lying around in random spots if they want to look at them. If she had sincerely confiscated the coat for visual purposes, it would have been hanging up on the brass coat hook on the back of her boarding room’s door, but it’d been tossed aside as if it hadn’t been properly put away after usage.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Which could only mean…</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My word, Enola Holmes. You wore it, didn’t you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s not asking.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Be quiet,” his companion snaps back, the blush returning with a fiery vengeance as she refuses to look at his grinning face, a face one would deem smug if they aren’t aware that he’s only pleasantly surprised and not trying to lord this revelation over her head. “<em>Please</em>. Can’t you tell that I’m trying to save your life at the moment?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tewkesbury can’t help it. He lets out a chuckle. Never would he have guessed that a function of his coat would be the capability to fluster the self-reliant, confident Enola Holmes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I promise we’ll get your belongings back after this is all over. And if you still want this coat-”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Tewkesbury…<em>please</em>.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>⋆ ⋆ ⋆ </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>epilogue</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lord William Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether, is a boy – or more like a man, now – of his word. Enola should have seen it coming.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Only one day has passed after their last encounter at the gate when Enola comes back to her room from a day of investing a potential case and finds the carpet bag with her hastily-packed possessions set right on the inside of the door to her new lodging room.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Opening the bag, she rolls her eyes and can’t stop from smiling at the sight of that shade of ash grey material that covers other contents below it like a blanket. She picks up the note which lies neatly folded like the coat it rests upon and reads its contents:</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Dear Enola,</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>I’m sorry I could not deliver this personally to you, but Parliament has demanded my presence more than ever, even after the House Bill vote. Sherlock actually retrieved your belongings because I had a feeling if the headmistress saw my face again, it would end badly for me.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>However, I expressed my wish to him that he see that the coat (and this note) is safely returned to your possession, if at all possible, for while I am fond of it, I am more interested in your well-being and happiness. Seeing that it reminded you of me, I can only hope that it will serve as a reminder to you when things become difficult that a certain nincompoop is eternally grateful for your detective skills and roots for your success.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>The coat is yours.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Yours truly,</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Tewkesbury</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Enola rereads the note. Tewkesbury’s sweet words ring in her ears as if he’s there saying them out loud, and they stick with her as she puts the rest of the bag’s contents away, giving her strength to push down the embarrassment that Sherlock, nosy as she is, most likely read those same words and now knows the marquess’ feelings towards her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Then two days later, Enola heads down to main floor of the building she resides in for breakfast and is greeted by her landlady pointing to a package on a stool near the front door.</p>
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  <p>“That came for you early this morning, dearie. I have to ask, do you always get these many deliveries?”</p>
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  <p>When Enola retreats to her room with the medium-sized bundle wrapped in tan-colored paper, she’s utterly confused at what it can be. She pulls the coarse string from the bow it forms, the paper gives way, and she laughs, shaking her head in disbelief.</p>
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  <p>
    <em>Dear Enola,</em>
  </p>
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  <p><em>Though</em> <em>I was joking when I asked you if you wanted this coat as well, I want you to have it. I am growing and it won’t fit me soon, so do with it what you please.</em></p>
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  <p>
    <em>Perhaps it can be of use by being tailored so you do not have to keep running into the trouble of asking unsuspecting boys and men for their clothes for when you need to disguise yourself as a boy? </em>
  </p>
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  <p>
    <em>Still yours,</em>
  </p>
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  <p>
    <em>Tewkesbury</em>
  </p>
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  <p>Enola slips on the black “porter-ish” coat before she can stop herself, and as she looks around her room for something she can send Tewkesbury in return — perhaps her copy of <em>The Language of Flowers</em>? — she catches a whiff of her present.</p>
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  <p>It smells like maple and wool, of roses like the other coat, and by the time she figures out the faint metallic scent is from the breastplate of armor that had saved his life, it dawns on her that this coat smells like an idea as well.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It smells like loyalty and wit. It smells like someone who had almost died due to his beliefs in equality. It smells like someone she knows can trust and equally root for his success, no matter the distance between them and the time spent apart.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It smells like Tewkesbury. </p>
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